


Stain Of The Soul

by Nadja_Lee



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Jim, Cleaning, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Love, M/M, Military, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-03
Updated: 2004-07-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23005723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadja_Lee/pseuds/Nadja_Lee
Summary: The real reason why Jim cleans everything. A tale of a Covert Ops mission gone horribly wrong.A story split into a series of 27 drabbles.
Relationships: Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg
Kudos: 33





	Stain Of The Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Do you have any idea how hard it is to write a whole story with the restraint that it shall all be broken into neat little drabbles of 100 words? I hope someone out there appreciates it *laughs*
> 
> Thanks so much to Nancy who betaed this even though she’s not into the Sentinel fandom. Thanks so much, lov *hugs*

# Stain Of The Soul

**Drabble 1:**

Everything has to be clean. Not a spot in sight. Order and rows…logic and reason.

In every spot it all comes back to me. My senses were not online then but I can still recall the smell of burning flesh, sweat, vomit, urine…I can see the blood, burned bodies and the bodies of fallen comrades. I hear the screams of the dying…I hear myself scream. I feel dirty hands all over me…Pain in every inch of my body…Humiliation and shame at my helplessness.

Officially it never happened. We were never even in that country. Unofficially is a whole other story. 

**Drabble 2:**

Unofficially my team and I were captured and tortured. Unofficially I lived in hell for two months, agony a word to describe a good day.

They punished me when I refused to say more than name, rank and serial number. The torture was as new and ancient as mankind. I only know what they did from my medical file and the flashbacks and nightmares that threaten to bring forth repressed memories of beatings, whippings, starvation, burns, lost teeth, physiological torture…

While my rank earned me the hardest physical punishments, it strangely enough protected me against being raped more than once.

**Drabble 3:**

I had no illusions about my own mortality. I knew I would break eventually. Everyone does. Yet I also knew as soon as I told my captors what they wanted to know they would kill me. When the pain and humiliation was strongest that didn’t seem so bad.

Everyone breaks but when my denials were punished with the death of one of my men I knew the game was over. We had all been trained to both conduct and withstand torture but brotherhood is stronger than that. I had a duty to my country but my men’s safety came first.

**Drabble 4:**

Pure luck helped me reach the only three surviving members of my unit and we managed to escape before I broke down and betrayed the oath I had given to serve, obey and protect.

Finally we managed to get back to friendly territory and call for help. Our bodies healed with time but I think we all left a part of us behind in a dirty, smelly, small and dark prison in a far away land that few have even heard of.

Officially it never happened. If anyone reads our records, we were all on leave for those two months.

**Drabble 5:**

We had three psychologist appointments, as was required, but they were more to make sure we hadn’t talked than for our sake.

We vowed to stay together, four survivors of a hell everyone denied had happened.

But we never talked about our capture. It was like we all carried within us a terrible secret we didn’t dare to speak of; repression became an art form.

We were fiercely protective of each other. We helped each other through nightmares and fear-based reactions, covering each other’s backs.

Hints would betray our private hells to each other but that was all, never more.

**Drabble 6:**

As the commanding officer on our failed mission, I knew I had taken most of the heat but I also knew none of us had escaped unscarred despite my fight to make it so.

Stevenson, the youngest of us, had been humiliated and raped more than the rest of us. He hadn’t told us, we hadn’t asked, but his fear of touch in the hospital added with the doctor’s report left no doubt.

We all thought he was doing okay. He talked, he smiled, he went back to work. We hovered and fussed but finally drew back, letting him breathe.

**Drabble 7:**

Three months after we had been released from the hospital I found Stevenson dead on his bed. Dressed in his formal dress uniform, his weapon lying beside his hand, his pillow red with blood. I think my scream of outrage woke up the entire camp.

We buried him, fighting the urge to tell his parents and wife precisely why their beloved son and husband had chosen to take his own life but we could not. Our mission had never happened and thus Stevenson hadn’t killed himself because of it. Instead the base doctor came with a vague explanation of depression.

**Drabble 8:**

Afterwards some soldiers spoke ill of Stevenson and when the last three of us defended our brother we ended up being disciplined.

We who had lived something close to his hell would never judge him. Though Stevenson had survived in body, his soul had been shattered. Only in death had he reclaimed a true sense of peace.

Only Johnson and I stayed in the military after that. Salviaro got a honourable discharge a month after Stevenson’s funeral and cut himself off from us. Six months after that I was asked to lead a new Covert Ops mission going to Peru.

**Drabble 9:**

Johnson and I were a lot alike. Repression was something we skilfully mastered. We never talked about what had happened or why we had suddenly become so tight, always protecting each other and sticking up for each other. We never explained why we had become reckless, taking chances with our own lives.

When the dangerous mission to Peru was offered I said yes instantly and Johnson wanted in as well. The rest, as they say, is history. The chopper was shot down. Johnson died a few hours later in my arms and this time only the jungle heard my cry.

**Drabble 10:**

Time lost its meaning as I buried my dead comrades one by one as they died in my arms, unable to help by any other way than to make sure that they at least weren’t alone in death.

After a few weeks, my last man died. His name was Chi Lang. He had fought so hard and somehow his death seemed that more unfair because of it.

Left all alone and still injured after the crash, I couldn’t bear to be near the crash side. With a last look at the graves of my comrades, I disappeared into the jungle.

**Drabble 11:**

Some weeks must have passed where I was on my own in the jungle. Everything but pure survival instinct faded in the background. The pain of my injuries made me feel as if I was on fire and all my senses spiked up, driving me to the brink of madness.

Salvation arrived with the Chopec Indians. They took me in, nursed me back to health and taught me their ways, language and customs. They knew I was a Sentinel and their Shaman became my Guide.

I became a member of their tribe, became their Sentinel, while completing my assigned mission.

**Drabble 12:**

After 18 months of living with the Chopec Indians, guarding, protecting and fulfilling my mission, I was saved. The fire I had had just after my capture had died. I felt tired and used. I felt so abandoned, now carrying my secret with me alone forever. I wanted to forget. I wanted out.

A few months later I got a honourable discharge and another damn medal for surviving, just like after my capture.

I pushed my ordeal to the back of my mind. I refused to think about it. I became a Detective and I married Carolyn, desperate for normality.

**Drabble 13:**

I tried to be normal by repressing my senses, parts of my childhood, my torture and my time in Peru.

I couldn’t open up to people, not even Carolyn. I had trouble showing her my love in words. Unconsciously I kept hearing my captor demand answers, demand words. Words I fought so hard not to say. I just couldn’t talk now; talk was dangerous.

During the day my control kept me together and the occasional flashbacks were fought back with the ease of many years of repression. But at night nightmares plagued me and I couldn’t tell Carolyn about them.

**Drabble 14:**

Unwanted, my past made itself known in gestures and signs. I was obsessed with cleaning, the house and myself. I even wanted Carolyn to shower at least once a day. I withdrew into myself, unable to talk to her. My nightmares strengthened until one night when Carolyn tried to wake me up I scrambled away from her, knocked her away and reached for my gun, pointing it at her.

For her safety I agreed to a divorce. I have always believed that love is forever but now I saw that this was not fair to her, to either of us.

**Drabble 15:**

When I met Blair, things got better. I had fewer secrets now. He helped me with my senses and he helped me remember how I had found my mentor’s corpse as a boy. He moved in with me but kept his distance, not pushing to come closer.

Sometimes his attempts to make me open up annoys and irritates me but most of the time he accepts that I need time.

I don’t know if he suspects I’m hiding something. I think he does; he’s insightful. Still, most of what I do he sees in light of me being a Sentinel.

**Drabble 16:**

He thinks my obsession with cleanliness and neatness is a territorial thing that adds to the feline aura of being a Sentinel. He thinks I only repress memories associated with my senses because of my dad’s hate for them, saying they made me a freak. He thinks I don’t want to open up because of all the people who have betrayed me, died on me or left me.

He’s not wrong. It is just not the whole truth.

He’s closer and dearer to me than anyone I’ve ever met. He soothes and calms me. He makes it all seem worthwhile.

**Drabble 17:**

Blair has stayed with me through more than anyone else ever has. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I do him and that’s why I sometimes hurt him. I’m trying to see if it’s possible to push him too far. I don’t ever wish him to leave but I fear he might and so I keep seeing if I can make that terrible fate come to pass, silently praying it never will.

It’s hard to love again after so much loss. Loneliness is cold but safe. No one to threaten to get to you…no hurt when they leave you.

**Drabble 18:**

I know full well that if I am to have a chance to be with Blair he needs to know the truth. Trouble is I’m not sure if I can talk about it. I never have before. What if I break into such tiny pieces even his love wouldn’t be able to heal me? And all that is assuming he returns my feelings.

When Carolyn left I faced reality that my life would never be normal. The intensity of my flashbacks to my capture and torture made me try and find Salviaro. Through a CIA contact I finally found him.

**Drabble 19:**

Salviaro now lives in Spain and has a new life and a new name. He is happily married with two kids and, after some digging, I found he had been seeing a psychologist through the years. Of all of us Salviaro had always been the most open about his emotions and that seems to have served him well.

I also discovered that he has been publishing novels based on his own experiences like the British SAS soldier Andy McNab did with his book “Bravo Two Zero.” Writing his own experiences into fictitious characters lessened his pain and helped him cope.

**Drabble 20:**

I brought all of Salviaro’s books and, to my surprise, saw that he had dedicated them all:

“To Hawkeye’s Team.”

Hawkeye had been my codename in Covert Ops. It had started as a joke between my men because they claimed I could see further than any man and that my aim was always true…like a hawk. Now I know I must at times have used my Sentinel sight.

Salviaro wasn’t a bad author but it was too painful to read the books. Though he still kept his oath and never named real missions or characters, they were still very realistic.

**Drabble 21:**

Salviaro has shown me there can be light after the darkness. That it is possible to live, truly live, again. For that I’ve sent him a card and an expensive bottle of Whiskey, his favourite brand. The card simply reads:

“ _To Salviaro,_

_Thanks for the years of your friendship._

_Thanks for surviving._

_You fought well. Now live well._

_Hawkeye_.”

Salviaro found his light, his way. I wonder if I can find mine. Time does lessen the pain of open wounds but they don’t go away. Only my quick healing has prevented my body from being as scarred as my soul.

**Drabble 22:**

I can’t afford a breakdown so I clean everything. Every time I have a flashback the house gets a once over. On a good day I shower once a day and clean the house once a week. On a bad day I shower once every few hours and clean constantly.

I’ve heard all the words: survivor’s guilt, repression, flashbacks, emotional transference and so on and so forth.

All I can see when I flashback is the blood and the dead and…Everything’s so dirty!

Maybe if I scrub hard enough the memories will wash away and I won’t feel dirty anymore. 

**Drabble 23:**

There are many things from my childhood, capture and time in Peru that I’ve repressed so thoroughly I’m unable to bring them forth. I’m not sure I should even try.

But I know I want what Salviaro has and for that I need Blair. As I’ve said, I’ve never felt so relaxed, so loved and safe with anyone before. I know he’s the key to my happiness.

Tonight I’ve placed all of Salviaro’s books on his bed and written a note that simply says:

“ _For your study of a certain Sentinel._

 _James J. “Hawkeye” Ellison, ex-Captain, Covert Ops, Army Rangers_.”

**Drabble 24:**

Blair’s a clever young man. He’ll figure it out. Salviaro’s characters are based on his old team. His captain Hawkeye is based on me. The few pages I did read of his books gave me a strange feeling of watching my best and worst sides talk to me. It was too close to reality for me to read more; maybe later I’ll be able to.

For now the books about Hawkeye’s team are Blair’s. I wonder what the last book in the series is like…the one where we’re captured. I wonder if Salviaro has guessed right about his team-mates’ hell.

**Drabble 25:**

If Blair recognizes Hawkeye as me many things will surprise him: he speaks several languages, pilots choppers, has knowledge of electronics, he kills to protect his men… all the skills Black Ops Captains have to master. Mostly I think he’ll be surprised that Hawkeye’s open, playful and relaxed around his comrades when he feels safe.

Though no longer in the army, I’ve never let my guard down. Secrecy was always a defence mechanism since childhood but after my capture were every word was forced out it became even more so. Blair’s the first person I’ve dared to open up to.

**Drabble 26:**

I think Blair has wondered what happened to me during my Covert Ops days but he has never asked. Maybe because he fears the answers. He’s a man of anti-violence first and foremost. The things I’ve seen, done or been subjected to…I doubt his kind mind would even believe a human brain could think up something so evil.

We’re good together in that way. So different that we seem to fit. Discipline, personal responsibility, war, honour, truth, forever, justice, the way of the warrior…All my ways. Peace, love, understanding, tolerance, compassion, freedom…All his ways. Like two pieces of a whole.

**Drabble 27:**

A lot has died over the years, within me and around me. I’ve carried a lot of secrets around, letting them hold me prisoner. I’ve been trapped in the darkness for so long, the poster boy for silent suffering.

I believe Blair can help me bring back the light, the sun.

While I wait for my love I’ll be here dealing the only way I know how…I’ll clean everything in a fanatic attempt to clean the stain on my soul.

Waiting.

I pray his love really can save me. It’s my last chance for redemption…for happiness. For finally being clean.

## The End


End file.
